Paradigm
by Disgruntled the 8th dwarf
Summary: COMPLETELY REWRITTEN! There's no manual that tells us how to live our lives; sometimes Yamato and Taichi wish there was. Taito, Takari, and mentions of Sorato.


Ok, so it's been what, three years since I've written anything? Thank God my writing skills have improved! Anyway, I've been noticing a distinct lack of Taito fanfiction lately. I've tried harassing my friends, aka. potential Taito authors, to no avail; so I've finally decided to get up off my hypocritical ass and write something. I did post this earlier but have since rewritten it because I wasn't happy with it before; it's better now.

Disclaimer: Don't own it yet; still working on it.

Ps. Do please review. I crave constructive criticism, especially after such a long absence.

He was going to snap. Crushing, immobilizing crowd aside, he was going turn around and rip that pervert's wandering hand off the body it was attached to. And then he was going to feed it to whomever it was who had decided that his ass was a good place to put it. The thought was accompanied by a cheerful mental image that, while wonderfully amusing, didn't do much to improve his mood as he once again felt a hand clench around his buttocks.

He had given the jerk the benefit of the doubt all the way from Shabuya, figuring that perhaps the man hadn't yet realized what, or at least _whom_, he was touching. After all, it _was_ a very crowded train, and people had a rather hard time of maneuvering themselves into space that wasn't to be found. An inconspicuous glance behind him had quickly cleared up any misconceptions. The man knew perfectly well who he was groping, if the leer he gave the blonde was any indication. Yamato had scowled and tensed, jerkily facing forward and shuffling to the left as much as space would allow, which was not much at all. _Subtlety is clearly on some people,_ Yamato thought with irritation, and if he were being honest with himself, what could have been a hint of fear, as he felt the body behind him shift and press against his back.

Yamato could feel his face growing warm, and, not for the first time that day, cursed his gaijin genes for his pasty complexion. God, this was embarrassing, not that anyone had noticed, thankfully; but what the hell was he supposed to do? Have a fit about it in the middle of the train? Yamato couldn't help glancing at the sign above the door, which featured a little stick man with one digit-less hand fondling the unfortunate stick woman beside him. Obviously not. He did _not_ need to prove Taichi's point; talk about adding insult to injury.

Taichi; now that was an avenue he did not want his thoughts going down at the moment. Yamato grit his teeth, enkindling the anger he had felt earlier that morning. Taichi was an idiot! He hoped the fatuous pervert standing somewhere in the crowd behind him got his arm stuck in a vending machine, or something equally karmic and unpleasant. Another squeeze; Yamato startled and just managed to clamp down on an indignant yelp. The blonde bristled like an angry cat and narrowed his eyes menacingly. There was only so much leeway he was willing to give a person before he disfigured them beyond recognition. Yamato clenched his hands at his sides. God, it would be vindicating to drive his fist through the creep's nose; but he couldn't do that, could he?

Yamato sighed; no, that would have been a very bad idea. It would be all over the tabloids tomorrow: _Musician Maims Subway Lecher; Injures 20! _ That was _just_ the kind of thing that he needed right now; _more_ publicity. The vultures were always looking for ways to hook their magazine's preteen readers. Apparently, _The Wolves_ appealed to that demographic. _As if half of them could even understand the lyrics_, he thought acerbically. Well, he supposed he wasn't being completely fair; but he doubted that most of the girls that showed up their concerts were there because of engaging articles written about his _music_. Which, was not to say that some of the articles he'd read lately weren't "interesting."

He had learned it was best to just ignore anything written about the band that the media deemed newsworthy; although truthfully, most of what was published had very little to do with the band and more to do with Yamato himself. _God, like that horrible article in JPOP a few weeks ago!_ His fingers twitched just thinking about it. His agent (they even had an agent now!) had set the interview up; with his approval, of course. As private a person as he was, Yamato had resigned himself, if not entirely adjusted, to the intense scrutiny that came with the job. But, the questions the interviewer asked! They were _very_ personal, and definitely no one's business… maybe not even Taichi's! Preteen girls did _not_ need to know _those_ kinds of things about anyone! He tried to picture Hikari asking those kinds of questions, and found he simply could not wrap his mind around it.

Theoretically, Yamato had known it was a bad idea to be so tetchy with the man… he had been just plain rude actually; but the guy had rubbed him the wrong way from the minute he shook Yamato's hand, grinning smarmily and expressing his utter enthusiasm to finally meet "such a talented, up-and-comer in the music industry." He would put down money that the man had never so much as listened to one of their songs.

The interview had started out mundanely enough; the man, who had introduced himself as Mr. Fujimoto, asking generic questions about what his favorite colour/food/movie was and pretending to be intensely interested in the answers. At least Yamato _assumed_ that was what the man had been trying to convey through his concentrated scrutiny of the musician's face; Yamato had sucked his teeth throughout the entire interview, hoping to dislodge the remnants of food that were surely bright green and stuck between his two front teeth.

He hated spouting off answers to such inane, superficial questions, but he hated answering the deceptively simple, and all too telling, ones more; those kept him on his toes. It wouldn't do to respond without carefully examining his response, and he had to do it without appearing to. Answers that were too calculated could be just as revealing as a Freudian slip to a particularly shrewd interviewer (or pseudo-journalist, as Taichi had taken to calling them.)

As much as he liked the fact that the band was getting exposure, Yamato couldn't help but feel slightly sick in the pit of his stomach, as though he had digested something that his body didn't agree with, whenever the questions turned from their tenuous connection to music and began blatantly ignoring it. It made him uncomfortable and slightly defensive to answer questions about his family, and even more so when he was asked about his relationships… Yamato didn't like lying; not about that. It made his chest ache and bile rise up in his throat, threatening to choke off his response. He always felt terrible after managing to croak out that, "No, he wasn't seeing anyone at the moment," and "Yes, he supposed it could be any girl really." Yeah right, any girl, so long as she was flat chested and had a dick… which wasn't entirely true either, and did little to alleviate the feeling of nausea.

It wasn't like the band didn't have male fans, they did. Some of whom were quite demonstrative in their affections towards the blonde. He had learned to be as wary of those one's as he was of some of the bolder, more excitable girls. He was also about as attracted to them as he was to some of the bolder, more excitable girls (or girls in general really); not at all. That was one aspect of fame that he could gladly live without: strangers who thought that they knew him intimately, because they could regurgitate magazine articles about him word for word. A thought which had crossed his mind, and probably contributed to his reaction, when Fujimoto _san_ had asked, not the least bit sardonically, whether he would rather be on the giving, or receiving end of oral sex.

Yamato knew he was paraphrasing; the actual question had been a little less clinical and a lot more insinuating, but it made him irritable just thinking about it now. The blonde had been shocked. He wasn't a prude; Yamato spared a smirk for that thought. No, _definitely_ not a prude, but he certainly hadn't been expecting _that_. He had given the man the coldest look he could muster.

Mr. Fujimoto had stared blankly back for about two seconds before repeating the question; more slowly this time, as if he thought the poor, half gaijinmusician too slow to process what he had said. Yamato had hissed in a breath between clenched teeth and leaned forward, eyes flashing dangerously. Too bad the man didn't recognize that expression for what it was; he might have gotten out of the way.

Yamato flashed the interviewer an insincere and condescending look before replying causticallythat he was flattered but not interested, no matter which one of them was on the receiving end; after all, who knew where Fujimoto _kun _had been. And further more, he would rather not be on the receiving end of the man's obvious lip service, thank you very much! He remembered making a few assumptions about Mr. Fujimoto's lineage… for good measure, before standing stiffly and storming out of the room; leaving the interview, and the interviewer, in a huff. He had gone straight home, cleaned the kitchen, and forced himself to forget about the incident. It was too bad that in all the interviews since he had to answer questions about whether or not there was any truth to the rumor that he was a stuck up bitch. Yamato rolled his eyes. Maybe he should slug his molester after all; he had a reputation to maintain.

The train rocked slightly and people were jostled into each other. Having his foot stepped on shook Yamato out of his thoughts and caused him to stumble backwards into his admirer. God, he wasn't usually so awkward! He supposed he was still a little bit out of sorts from his argument with Taichi. The brunette was the only one who seemed to have this affect on him.

Yamato huffed exasperatedly, anticipating the pair of groping hands as he felt movement behind him. He avoided them by shuffling further into the mass of people, getting an elbow to the temple for his audacity. It stunned him for a second, and he growled looking forward to the headache he knew he was going to develop. The blonde wedged himself in between a loud, angry looking elderly couple. Well, the woman was loud and angry; the man, her husband, he assumed, seemed more embarrassed and maybe a little bit frightened. He ducked under the man's arm, excusing himself as he did so. Still, the woman turned her attention from her husband, brandished her wooden cane and began all but yelling about his lack of decorum. "Kami help her, if she had such a rude young man for a grandson, she would spank some decency into him!" Yamato apologized, trying to smile disarmingly, though he thought it a rather poor attempt; the effect was somewhat ruined by his mortified blushing. The man just looked relieved.

God, it just wasn't his day today! And damn Taichi for ruining it in the first place! Yamato blew at his blonde bangs, which kept falling into his eyes. When he had woken up that morning he hadn't felt an impending sense of dread or anything; he'd been looking forward to today, actually. Had been looking forward to spending time with Taichi. Takeru had been upset about them not having any quality brother to brother time together recently, so Yamato had promised to spend the entire week with him. Not that he didn't absolutely adore his younger sibling, but after a week of having him scrutinize his every movement, because Yamato was sure the younger blonde had ulterior motives, he had wanted to spend some quality time of his own with his boyfriend. Something he couldn't do when Takeru was around, as he suspected that some of those ulterior motives had to do with finding out _why _his brother hadn't spent as much time with him lately. He felt kind of guilty about that; he hadn't realized that Takeru felt neglected.

The train pulled into a station; Yamato thought it was his stop but he couldn't be sure (he had lost track after the first squeeze to his behind) because the press of bodies around him, combined with his less than impressive stature, made it impossible to see much other than the neck of the man in front of him. A few cheerful notes sounded as an even more cheerful female voice announced the station, which was indeed Yamato's stop.

The blonde hefted his bag further up on his shoulder and shuffled towards the doors, narrowly avoiding the parting swat his not so secret admirer aimed at his rear; the bad tempered old woman, who had been standing directly behind Yamato was not so lucky. He cringed, along with the other passengers, as he heard the woman shriek in scandalized horror before laying into the unfortunate molester, with both words and the cane that Yamato had eyed with trepidation earlier. Stepping onto the platform, Yamato almost felt sorry for the guy but quickly shrugged it off as a residual effect of being elbowed in the head.

The next chapter will be from Taichi's point of view. I've written two or three pages of it already, so hopefully it won't take me too long to get it out. Please review and let me know what you think… I'll give you a cookie.


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